


Drowning In Your Drink

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Rape, Slurs, Violent Sex, i wrote this for my fave gross friend, there is nothing fun about any of this just fyi, this is horrible and a major bummer, youre welcome buddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You go to some hole in the wall bar one Friday night to drown your pathetic life in alcohol, and while there an equally destitute drunkard offers his company. Against your better judgement, you let your loneliness say yes, and end up regretting it after a nightmare of abuse at the hands of fiery booze and a violent stranger.





	Drowning In Your Drink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [many_freckles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/many_freckles/gifts).



> hey yall in this new installment of shit i conjured without a second thought nor a care in the world shit is depressing as fuck
> 
> enjoy???

Staring into the stray droplets of amber liquid littering the bar, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was as good as it gets. The rambunctious drunks around you, who obviously frequented the loud, hazy space were splashing their cheap booze in every which direction as they danced and laughed to the soundtrack of washed up pop hits oozing from the jukebox in the corner. They were having the time of the half aware lives, killing the majority of their good sense in favor of enjoying life for a few pathetic hours. You sighed as you let your cynical thoughts wash over you, not quite drunk enough yet to replace them with bad decisions. Well, worse decisions than the one you’d already made to spend your Friday night in the pit stain of a venue.

 

You scrunched your nose and exhaled sharply after taking the last of your drink in an ambitious shot, eager for the alcohol content to make its way through your bloodstream. You were about to signal for another glass of fiery disappointment when a voice next to you drawled in your direction. “You seem like you're drinking your way through some shit,” came the deep, rumbling baritone. You were surprised you could hear the even tone underneath the howling of the wasted youth around you. Looking over, you locked eyes with warm ones that resembled the owner’s bourbon flickering in the light. His smile was lopsided and read more of resignation and exhaustion than any sort of merriment. “Not a good habit to start at such a young age,” he reflected with some pity. His gravelly voice told you that he’d seen his share of vices in his days. You could hear the smoke that’d taken home in his lungs for surely many years, and saw a mournful bitterness in the creases of his crow’s feet and laughter lines.

 

“Well,” you started, looking away from his heavy stare, but still feeling it claw at the sides of your face. “You seem like you speak from experience.” The words dripped from bitter lips, willing away the intrusive stranger to let you wallow in the woes you’d accumulated over the week. Still, underneath the venom, there was a loneliness you didn’t mean to let slip through that invited him to pester you further, as it wasn’t as bothersome as you truly let on. He could see your vulnerability clear as day, even through the smoky air of the bar.

 

He chuckled breathlessly and mindlessly stroked at his messy beard. “You got me there, kid.” He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, visibly calculating some course of action. “I understand a stranger like myself can’t talk you out of your grief,” he said cautiously, observing your reactions carefully. “But what’ya say that you let him join your brooding, buy you a drink?” You cocked a brow at him silently, not responding right away. “Might as well drown yourself with a little company.”

 

You stared at him for another second, his words sinking in slowly. You broke the tension with a defeated laugh, shaking your head at the ground as you accepted your pathetic fate for the night. “Sure,” you breathed to yourself more than him. “If you wanna fund my bender, be my guest!”

 

With a practiced gesture to the busy bartender and a nod, your night really began to spiral into the clutches of inebriated denial. Drink after drink, you allowed the stranger to loosen your screws and lean into your shrinking personal space. You laughed bitterly along with overly private accounts of misery from both of your exaggerated experiences, not so subtly trying to out misery the man. Throughout the night you learned his name, Jesse McCree as he said, and he learned yours. He vaguely recounted various run ins with the law that intrigued your poorer judgement and excited you in ways they shouldn’t have, but the alcohol in your system cared little for the conscious screaming as it was locked away in the back of your mind. In return you rattled off stories of regretful romantic encounters and shitty jobs worked in search of Friday nights with good friends and lovers rather than strangers and potent drinks. While your stories were admittedly less interesting than his exciting tales of car chases and shoot outs, he hung on every word and showed interest, though you knew this scene well. His interest was not in your messages, but rather the possible rewards of listening to them. You were still unsure of how far you’d let his friendly touches and gazes slip, but for now you let him think you were seriously considering more just for the sake of his company.

 

Throughout the night of shameless, slurred flirting, the bar slowly emptied as patrons walked home with churning stomachs and regret waiting in the coming morning. Still, you sat and laughed stupidly at the dirty jokes of the older man leaning into your shoulder, not so stealthily stealing whiffs of your hair. The bartender looked at you with pity, hesitant to serve another drink as Jesse ordered it for your sake. Jesse glared at her questioning face, and shooed her prying eyes to the louder couple down the bar after taking the glass he legally paid for. She turned away with a grimace, leaving Jesse out of any’s line of sight for just a moment as you were doubled over laughing at some crude joke he’d told. A moment was all he needed, though, to contaminate the liquid fire with powdered evil from the slip in his jacket pocket. You barely tasted the drink itself, let alone the drugs as you greedily gulped at the glass shoved into your palm without a second thought. Jesse smiled as he watched the liquid slide past your lips to rip away the last of your lucid thought.

 

Minutes later, he was escorting you by the elbow out of the bar into the cold air of the early morning. He waved away the questions of your fate from the concerned bartender, dooming her to regret her lack of initiative later. You didn’t even have the strength to protest against his steady guiding hand, unable to form much of a single thought as the wind hit your warm, flushed face outside. You slurred questions, begging to know what was happening as well as you could manage as he walked calmly away from the bar, holding you under his arm and cooing promises of favorable outcomes for the both of you. You stumbled dumbly for the duration of the short walk to the motel a few blocks down, planting the assumption that McCree really was helping a poor soul in the minds of the few witnesses to the crime.

 

He unlocked and opened the motel room with ease, showing to you that he had planned and perhaps executed this long before ever meeting you. Though you could not put together an intelligent thought, you could not deny the all too clear feeling of dread as he threw you cruelly into the dark, musty smelling motel room. You stumbled with the force of his push, tripping over your shuffling feet and falling to the dirty carpet below. Jesse laughed darkly behind you as he locked the door. “Didn’t your mama teach you better than to get yourself into messes like this?” You looked up at him, seeing double as he stalked forward and stood over you. It felt like you were looking at the embodiment of a nightmare, a horror story told to warn teenagers the dangers of strangers and alcohol.

 

He crouched down and lifted you by the collar of your shirt, throwing you to the side so that you’d fall on the low sitting spring mattress. You bounced against the creaking, old furniture, and could feel sickness churning in your stomach. Fueled by the lack of proper food and the excess of alcohol, as well as the apprehension settling in your mind, you were afraid you might vomit. You clutched your stomach with one hand and the side of your head with the other, hoping to will the room to stop spinning as Jesse crawled slowly over you, taking in the sight of your helplessness.

 

“I guess I should be glad she didn’t,” he mused to himself, running his hand over your waist and hips, lighting fire to your skin as he went. “It’s stupid little faggots like you that keep me feeling young,” he practically sang, the words flowing out like poison from his wicked grinning lips.

 

You looked into his eyes and felt a fraction of a fight birth from his cruel words, springing from your chest with a punch to his gut. You nostrils flared as you moved as fast as you could away from his recoiling frame, but the drugs in your system were stronger than your force of will. With a snarl he took both of your flailing fists in one hand and punished your resistance with a sturdy punch across the face. You yelped pathetically as his rough and cut knuckles made contact with your cheek and nose, shooting pain from the bone through every nerve in your system.

 

He looked down at your face, tears forming in your eyes and blood begging to gush from your nose. You looked up into the hellfire of his irises and huffed through your injured nose, splashing blood across both of your shirts. “Get the fuck off of me, you fucking dick,” you spit at him metaphorically before collecting the saliva in your mouth to spit all too literally in his eye.

 

He roared as he retaliated with his hands around your throat. You choked for air desperately as he leaned into your face and enunciated his threats slowly and deliberately. “Now listen here, you little bitch,” he breathed furiously. You could smell the various strong beverages on his breath and wanted to retch. “I do what I want with little faggots like you when I want, and it’s up to you whether or not you leave with your bones all intact.” His large calloused hands squeezed without abandon at your windpipe, cutting off all air and birthing stars in your vision. Just as your eyes began to roll back he retracted his grip and allowed you to cough and sputter with the influx of air.

 

He didn’t give you much time to rejoice over the rush of life to your lungs, because as soon as you started to gulp at the oxygen he allowed he was literally ripping away at any clothing in his way to your body. You shirt was shredded down the middle, exposing your chest, and your pants were ripped away in a flash of tearing fabric. As soon as you were completely exposed one of his hands was back on your throat again before you could beg for mercy. He held you down by your neck as he forced your mouth open to allow him to suck at your tongue. You gagged on his forceful kiss as he roughly groped at every point of contact he could find.

 

He worked himself up to full hardness quickly with the cruel treatment, finding arousal fast via your choked resistance and the friction provided by his shameless rutting against your thigh. You silently thanked whatever God may still be watching over you in heaven when he pulled away for a moment, allowing you a second to gather breath and sanity. You soon damned your very life when you saw that he only pulled away to pull his length from his pants. He unzipped his jeans and began stroking himself as he looked down at your red face covered in blood, tears, and spit. You sobbed a bit at the sight of the large throbbing member that was perhaps too big even with preparation. He smiled devilishly at your crying and laughed as he held you down to line himself up with your exposed sex.

 

“Please, God, no,” you managed out between sobs before he pressed his forearm against your windpipe, leaning over you and grinning down at your sobbing face. You tried to summon more fruitless protests, but they all died as he thrust in quickly and without remorse. All that came was a mangled cry of pain as his giant cock ripped through your unprepared walls. He growled like an animal at the harsh friction, wasting no time on waiting before he set a merciless pace.

 

Each thrust caused the mattress and boxspring to scream in protest beneath you, liable to give out at any moment. All you could do was go with the harsh movements and pray for relief to come in any form sooner than later. You thanked the heartless heavens above when your body finally began to produce some lubrication to ease the sting of the intrusion at least a bit, though the brutality still sent pain shooting through every limb. McCree’s ragged breath in your ear caused your stomach to churn and chest to ache with grief as he moaned out filthy words of praise and insult in equal measure.

 

“You feel so good, darling. Taking in me all the way like the whore you are,” he groaned without remorse. You turned your head away to put any infinitesimal fraction of distance you could between yourself and your assailant, but he moved his hand from your hip to grab your jaw forcefully and turn your gaze back towards his. “You look at me when I talk to you, you little shit.” His eyes were wild like a devil’s as they pierced through your own into the depths of your psyche. You could feel his gaze crawl through your irises into your soul to taint it with the claws of his perversion.

 

He grinned and howled as he buried his face in your neck. His hips picked up their pace to your shock and he lost any semblance of rhythm he started with as he chased that selfish high. He buried himself inside of you as far as he could push himself and came with an animalistic shout. You sobbed as you felt his seed fill you to the brim, leaking out around his member, dripping down your thighs to the already filthy sheets below. He ground into your hips with fading vigor as he rode out his climax, paying no mind to your trembling cries underneath him.

 

He groaned as he finally pulled himself out of your aching sex, lifting himself from you and standing. You sobbed again and again as you were subject to the final stimulation, clinging to the sweaty blankets that smelled like poorly washed out piss and regret once you were finally empty. He stepped away from the bed and tucked himself back into his pants as you cried into the bed, humming a chipper tune as a final stab at your pride.

 

He picked up the motel keys he had discarded when you had gotten to the hell hole earlier that morning. They hit your arm with a jungle that rang in your ears as he threw them in your direction. “Be sure to give these back to the front desk when you leave, babe,” he said casually, brushing his hair into a somewhat manageable style with his fingers. He turned to look you over one more time as he turned the creaky door knob on his way out. He smirked at your shaking body curled in the fetal position. “Thanks for the fun tonight, sweetheart. We should do it again sometime.”

 

You didn’t see him leave, as you were faced at the opposite wall, staring at the expanse of blank neutral color. The latching door was what let you know of his absence. It did little to soothe the hollow ache in your bones, the persistent echo of misery that rang on the tip of every nerve. You could still smell the smoke of his breath, feel the burn of his gaze, hear the vibrato of his confidence. His essence clung to you like a disease and you could tell that it had permeated itself into your very skin. That stranger, this encounter, and your haphazard mistakes had already begun their eternal haunting over your spirit, and all you could do was fortify yourself against the cold draft of the motel room and prepare for a lifetime with Jesse McCree lingering in your veins.


End file.
